


Wolf of Heather

by neverwondernever (thatgbppfrom10880MP)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: excuse while i start too many stories, i guess my version of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:09:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgbppfrom10880MP/pseuds/neverwondernever
Summary: Rather than taking the journey to Rivendell upon Gandalf's insistence, Frodo does not leave the Shire, and in fear of destruction of the Shire, he invites the Master of the Ring for dinner.





	Wolf of Heather

_Its keeper never abandons it _, Gandalf had told him. Frodo could not help wonder at those words. _But what if they do?_ He wondered. He kept it on its chain, refraining from using it, and yet the urge remained. It was a burning, mindless curiosity. He would catch himself, going about his day, only to realize with wonderment at how it managed to find its way off of its chain, within his palm, cool and inviting. _The master of the Rings of Power, oh what a terror he must be?_ Frodo would think. __

__Gandalf had gone away, but this did not make Frodo any more comfortable. He had brought a certain anxiety—urgency paired with uncertainty. How does one manage such a thing of power? Of danger? But no, he was just a Hobbit of the Shire and Bag End. His uncle had never done much with it, other than use it for tricks, and despite the weariness it gave him, perhaps there was no ill in keeping it._ _

__It was safe in the Shire, or so Frodo thought, but then the rumors came. Black riders from the east had entered the borders, through the south by the Brandywine. He had overheard talk at the Green Dragon, when the Gaffer gave him the news proper. There were Men—tall, black, armored men on great, tall black horses and they were _looking_ for someone._ _

__“Who?” Frodo asked with the anxiety that his dear grey-clad friend had brought._ _

__“One of the Boffin twins,” Hamfast said, eyeing Frodo. “Can't tell which one; Buffo or Biffo or some such.”_ _

__“Oh,” Frodo said, with some surprise. He wondered what the two could have done. Neither were particularly bright, if he was to be polite about it, and nor were they likely to get themselves in trouble, least of all outside the Shire. In the succinct words of a Smallburrow he once overheard, they were the type to pass air into the wrong direction of the wind and wonder why it smelled. “I wonder what about.”_ _

__The Gaffer laughed and corrected himself, “No, no, they're not looking for a Boffin. That's who told me, and while I wouldn't count a hair's sliver of their word they're not the first to have mentioned it. Rumors are all around. They're looking for something that someone has and they do not seem rightfully friendly about it, either.” He leaned back to start his pipe._ _

__Frodo contemplated his pint; it was a new brew and he wasn't sure how fond of it he was._ _

__“No word on who it is yet. The Riders don't seem keen on sharing their quest and its made some folks rather nervous,” he said._ _

__“What do you think will happen,” Frodo asked. “To the one they find?”_ _

__“I'm reckoning that depends on how the person answers.”_ _

__Frodo didn't say much tonight and he feared that Hamfast had his suspicions. Samwise had promised not to say a word, and Frodo didn't have a keen mind to leave the Shire, even now. The words of Gandalf echoed in his mind; the Ring needed to leave the Shire. _He_ needed to leave the Shire. The thought pained him; as much as he loved the tales of his uncle, the vast dangers of the world rooted him to his home still. He did not want to lose his way._ _

__. . ._ _

__Days had passed and he had heard no word of any sort of Dark Rider. He headed out to the market to purchase more ink when a _mood_ came over the streets. It snuck on him, like mist creeping over the mountains. It cast a shadow, and the bright and cheery sky no longer held invitation. Hobbits snuck back into their stalls and abandoned their gardens to head inside. Those hapless within the market were trapped. That is when the Dark Rider appeared and Frodo realized a fear that he could never have thought to imagine. _ _

__The Rider stood tall on its horse, and its cloak wafted lazily despite the lack of breeze, for even the winds had felt despair. Hazy darkness, like a poison, trailed behind the Rider, and all those within the market stopped to stare. Time slowed, to Frodo, as if all around them no longer mattered—inconsequential to the world. There was a story told, in all of creation, a Song that all followed, and some may play their part, taking up with their own ingenuity, and others stayed to the notes on the page. In this moment, he felt the Song; this was between him and the Dark Rider. This had to do with the Ring of Power that felt cool and inviting against his chest. He was not a part already Sung into the fabric, but a Singer._ _

__The Rider stopped before him and turned its head to look at him. “We seek our property,” it spoke in a hollow voice. Frodo was quickly reminded of the Barrowdowns and the stories he heard of the risen dead._ _

__“Who has sent you?” Frodo asked._ _

__“Our Master; his property was lost and handed down to thief by thief.”_ _

__“Well, there are no thieves here,” he said, and added in a fit of bravery, for fear of the ruination of his home, “We do not take kindly do this sort of intimidation in the Shire.”_ _

__The Dark Rider paused, then spoke again, “You know of his property; there is no need to hide it. Give it here, halfling, and we shall leave to never return.”_ _

__“I'd rather not,” he said, and in truth, there were many reasons for his trepidation. He did not wish to give up the Ring, yes, but he did not trust the Dark Rider, nor its Master._ _

__“It is not your property,” the Rider spoke, hissing in anger, and Frodo sensed the danger he was in, for if he would not give the Ring, the Dark Rider could easily obtain it by force and blade._ _

__“Go to your Master, Mr Rider, and give him my invitation. I do not wish to give it up without ensuring that it is to go to its rightful owner,” he said. “Tell him to call upon Frodo at Bag End.”_ _

__The Dark Rider paused, considering the offer._ _

__Unsure of what else to say, fearing for many things, not in the least his life, he said, “I shall provide a fine dinner and lodgings.”_ _

__. . ._ _

__He returned home, shaken and irate. On the one hand, he was terrified of this disruption to his life, for the danger it posed and of the impossible questions he must find an answer. He would either need to leave the Shire, head to Rivendell as Gandalf advised, or to stay here and wait upon the arrival of either army or the Master of the Ring. On the other hand, he was livid with this, for the need to dislodge from the Shire, for the need to treat with the Dark Lord and Master of the Ring, and for the basic anger at the alteration of his peaceful, idyllic world. He lived within the Shire, there was no need for destruction and war here. He could not blame his uncle, he found, for he had been drawn out of Bag End and the sweet lands of the Shire by Gandalf, and yet even so, he was a friend. Perhaps one that had his own machinations, but Frodo loved and trusted him despite this and all the same. He knew a decision must be made on the Ring, but he did not know enough. He was but a simple Hobbit._ _

__. . ._ _

__Word had whispered around the Shire about him. Sam had told him, in low hushed tones as he tended to his garden. “Better watch yourself, Mr Frodo,” he had said. “People are suspecting you of poor doing.”_ _

__Frodo had told him to not worry, only take care of the primrose while he brought out tea for the afternoon, and so they sat, taking their uneasy rest. Sam worried for his master, and Frodo worried for all of the world, and most of all, himself and the peace of his home._ _

__He wished to himself, as the breeze was gentle on the skin, that everything would be forgotten. _Why can't we just enjoy some peace?_ He thought. He felt no need for Dark Riders or Rings of Power, and most of all, no need to leave the world he loved. He wondered if the Master of the Ring too enjoyed a cup of tea, or if he was such a villain as to loathe all things good in the world. As Gandalf were to say, it seemed there was nothing left to the Master but hatred and spite, but had he seen him, Frodo wondered. Had they spoken? Bilbo spoken of the Ring with strange reverence, and it took great will for Frodo to not use the ring, no matter the benign reasons. It called to him and it dredged up an emotion he did not wish to identify._ _

__Sam returned to his tasks after tea, then headed home. Frodo remained in his contemplative state until nightfall, and alone, he sat before the fireplace. Unknowingly, he had slipped the ring free of its chain and twirled it among his fingers. It glittered, but Frodo took no notice to this, and only to the sweet peace it called upon him, the great mischief and wonder it provided. _The Master of the Rings of Power_ , Frodo thought, _Was a truly skilled and cunning craftsman._ _ _

___But what was he?_ Frodo thought on himself. _Was he a keeper, who could never give up the Ring? Or would he hold it for another purpose, to prevent it from being used for harm or to give it away to its rightful owner?_ He continued to twirl the ring in his hands._ _


End file.
